Voices Carry
by Merlin71
Summary: John gets whumped. [What? Like you're surprised?]
1. Chapter 1

Title: VOICES CARRY  
Author: Merlin7  
Disclaimer: None of them are mine. :pouts:  
Rating: Adult - for language  
Archive: Anywhere  
Summary: John gets whumped. _What? Like you're surprised?_

* * *

**VOICES CARRY**

"It's a waste of time!" Rodney declared.

John glared at him then ignored him as Weir's voice came over his ear piece.

"Problems, Major?" she asked.

"Not really," John replied. "Just checking in with you before closing the deal. I want to make sure you approve."

There was a moment of silence then Weir's voice came through sounded a both surprised and amused. "I appreciate you asking first," she allowed. "So what is the deal? Do the Cerulin's have anything worth trading?"

John smiled at his teammates before replying. "We hit the motherlode," he proclaimed, then he waited a beat before adding, "In fruit."

"Fruit?" Elizabeth's voice echoed back at them.

"All kinds of fruit, ma'am," Ford interjected. "Stuff that tastes like apples and oranges and bananas and bunches of other things."

Another silence before Elizabeth replied, "Really?"

John chuckled. "Really."

"I'm assuming you've tasted it even though it wasn't tested yet." Elizabeth's voice sounded disapproving.

"Taste tests work best," John replied. "Besides, we didn't do it on purpose. We were invited to supper and they served us the fruit. The Cerulin's have been eating it for centuries and they're perfectly healthy."

"Sounds good then," Elizabeth allowed. "So what do they want in return?"

Rodney piped up. "Bonding."

Silence.

John was about to explain when Weir spoke again.

"Did I hear you say bonding?"

"You did," Rodney replied. "They have some kind of ceremonial ritual to complete a trading agreement. They want Major Sheppard to bond with their spirits." Rodney's tone made it clear he thought the idea was ridiculous.

Teyla jumped in to explain further. "The Cerulin's culture is firmly based in their spiritual beliefs. They are more than willing to trade with us and ask only for our understanding of their beliefs, our friendship and for Major Sheppard to take part in the bonding ceremony."

Elizabeth released a sigh loud enough to echo through the ear pieces. "Okay. What does the ceremony entail?"

"I believe Major Sheppard will be required to drink some Hilia Juice from the sacred bowl then he will join the spiritual leader, Kethen, in the chambers below. Sacred chambers. They will meditate for a few hours then return and the agreement will be concluded and we will be on our way."

"There isn't anything funny in the juice, is there?" Elizabeth queried.

Teyla shook her head then realized Weir couldn't see her. "No. We had some of the juice with our meal. It is harmless."

John decided to jump in at this point. "So...what do you say, boss? Sound like a plan?"

"Are you okay with this, major?" Elizabeth countered.

"A few hours napping..I mean, meditating, sound like a mini vacation to me."

"Waste of time," McKay interjected in a stage whisper.

John glared at him again. "I'm sending McKay and Ford back. They don't need to stick around. Teyla can keep watch while I'm meditating and we'll be home in a few hours with our first basket of fruit."

A short moment of silence then Elizabeth replied, "You have a go, Major. I'll be expecting Dr. McKay and Lt. Ford to be on their way. Weir out."

"You're really going to meditate for fruit?" Rodney was shaking his head in disbelief as he stared at Sheppard.

"Why not?" John shrugged. "Everybody loves fruit, Rodney. You were scarfing down those things that tasted like bananas."

Rodney looked insulted. "I was not scarfing. I was trying not to be insulting. I didn't want the Cerulin's to think I didn't like their food."

John snorted. "Well...I think they got the hint. There weren't any crumbs left on your plate and you did a clean sweep of most of the platters."

"I was hungry!" Rodney grumbled. "I didn't get to eat lunch before we came here."

"You made up for that," John teased, then he turned to Ford. "Listen...head back to Atlantis with McKay. Teyla and I will finish up here and see you back there in a few hours."

Ford nodded. "Yes, sir. Come on, Dr. McKay."

Rodney waved a hand at him. "Yes, yes...coming." His attention was focused on the scanner he was holding."

"Anything?" John asked, out of curiosity. McKay looked very intense all of the sudden.

"Nothing." Rodney was frowning. "I thought I detected something but it must have been my eyes playing tricks on me. The data is showing nothing."

John was relieved to hear that. Just once it would be nice for a mission to run smoothly. "Okay then...see you later."

Rodney nodded and headed off after Ford.

"Kethen is waiting for us," Teyla said, quietly, from Sheppard's shoulder.

"Let's go then," John replied. He rather liked this place and its people. They reminded him of gypsies. They had swarthy skin and dark hair and they dressed in colorful clothing. They're village was sheltered within a mountain pass and the huts they lived in formed a circle, caravan style. They looked mobile to John so maybe the Cerulin's were nomadic. He couldn't blame them. No reason not to keep on the move if it would keep them ahead of the Wraith. Only John knew there was no escaping a culling.

He shook off such dark thoughts as he and Teyla crossed the compound to where Kethen stood before what his people called the temple. Basically, it was an opening in the side of the mountain. Or, rather, it was an opening dug out from what looked like several rock falls. It had been stabilized by thick tree branches. At least John hoped it was stabilized. Because it was there he would have to enter and go below to the Chambers.

Kethen was smiling as they reached him. He had a full beard and a thick mustache and his long hair was pulled back into a pony-tail. He wore a red robe trimmed with purple over his trousers and shirt. "Are you ready, Major Sheppard?" he asked.

"As ready as I can be," John allowed.

"Then drink." Kethen accepted a glittery bowl from a young girl and held it out to Sheppard.

John accepted it and recognized the pale pink liquid as the Helia juice they drank at supper, just as Teyla had mentioned to Weir. So John smiled then took a swallow before handing the bowl back. He watched Kethen do the same then the Cerulin was leading him to the opening. John paused to look at Teyla. "Be back soon," he promised, then he stepped inside.

Three hours later John and Teyla stepped through the gate, lugging a huge basket between them, overflowing with fruit. They were greeted by Weir and a couple of marines and the horticulturalist. She ordered two of the marines to grab the basket and follow her to her greenhouse. Weir had given her permission to take samples from all of the fruits.

"Well done, Major," Elizabeth offered in greeting.

John smiled at her. "Thanks. I wish all of our mission were this easy and this successful."

Elizabeth nodded. "Amen to that. Ford briefed me on the mission and after you check in with Carson you can fill me in on the ceremony. It went well, I take it?"

"I think I slept through most of it," John admitted, feeling a bit sheepish. "Kethen asked that I not talk about the chamber, so I can't give you details, which are pretty fuzzy anyway. It was dark for the most part anyway. But then we sat down and we were supposed to meditate and I dozed off. Which, luckily, didn't seem to offend Kethen. Then we came back out and Teyla was waiting with the basket of fruit." John shrugged. "There you go...you've been briefed."

"Good enough," Elizabeth allowed. "Just write it up when you get a chance." She nodded to him and Teyla then strode off.

John knew she was a very busy woman. He rolled his shoulders, which felt a bit stiff, then rubbed the back of his neck.

Teyla was watching. "Are you all right, Major?"

"Just a little achy. Probably from sitting in the same position for so long." John smiled at her then gestured toward the stairs. "Ready to get poked and prodded?"

"Ready," Teyla confirmed.

So they headed for the infirmary. Fifteen minutes later, Teyla was released with a clean bill of health.

John wasn't quite so lucky. He frowned as he watched Beckett take a blood sample from his left arm. "Why am I the only one who has to give blood?" John protested.

"Because you're the only one that drank from the ceremonial bowl," Carson replied, pleasantly. "And you're the one with glassy eyes and suffering some aches and pains."

"I have a headache, big deal!" John shot back. He would have said more but his stomach suddenly roiled and he clamped a hand over his mouth.

Beckett recognized the signs and grabbed for a basin. He got it under Sheppard just in time.

John heaved until he felt like his stomach was going to come out through his nose. By the time he was finally done, he felt sweaty and shaky and he was more than willing to lie back against the pillows. A nurse brought him some water to rinse his mouth and John was grateful. Then he asked, "Anyone got a piece of mint gum?" Gum had always helped to settle his stomach.

"In my desk drawer," Carson told the nurse, then he grinned at Sheppard. "So you know that trick too?"

"By accident, but it works," John replied, his voice sounding hoarse.

Carson nodded. "Aye...it does."

The nurse returned with the gum and John thanked her then popped it in his mouth. "Much better," he sighed.

"I think I'm going to keep you here at least overnight, major," Carson stated. "You're a bit dehydrated so I'll give you an IV and I want to make sure you don't have some kind of virus or a flu bug." He pressed a hand to Sheppard's forehead. "No fever."

"Isn't that the unorthodox, and highly ineffective, method of checking for fever?" John teased.

Carson made a face at him. "It's effective if you know what you're doing," he shot back. But there was a glint of merriment in his eyes. "Janice will bring you a set of scrubs. Get changed and then I'll get your IV hooked up. After that you can rest."

John didn't argue the point. He wouldn't win even if he did and, truth be told, he felt worn out enough at this moment to be willing to stay where he was. He didn't have the luxury of being sick, so if a night in the infirmary could help him feel better and be on his way in the morning, so be it.

So when Janice brought the scrubs, John got changed. Then he slid under the covers and watched as Beckett hooked up an IV. By the time it was in he was drifting off to sleep.

John came awake with a jolt. He could feel his heart thudding hard in his chest. He could feel the way his pulse was racing and he was breathing fast, trying to gulp in air, but his lungs felt as if they wouldn't expand enough to let him breathe deep. It was as if he was suffocating.

He looked around and everything looked pale and faded and unfamiliar. He lifted a hand to his face and it came away wet, and there was a tug of pain in the back of his hand and he realized something was taped there. He yanked it off him, ignoring the pain and scrambled off the bed. He didn't know where he was. But he could hear his heartbeat in his ear, it was getting louder and louder and John was terrified. He backed himself into a corner and huddled down into it. He had never been so scared in all his life. He didn't even know what he was scared of. But the fear wrapped around him, squeezing him, suffocating him. A whimper escaped him and suddenly hands were on him and he jerked away.

"NO! NO!" John tried to back up but the wall was behind him.

"Major...it's okay, laddie. It's me. It's Carson. You're okay."

He recognized the voice. It was familiar and he stared at the man and he knew him but the terror intensified instead of receding. So John pushed him away and tried to step over him, tried to run. He had to get out of here only he didn't know which way was out. He stumbled over something and fell to his knees and before he could get up something heavy pinned him down. John tried to struggle against it but the fear had paralyzed his muscles. He couldn't move. Couldn't scream.

A prick in his shoulder, a cold rush in his veins, then darkness swirled him away.


	2. Chapter 2

John felt like someone had stuffed cotton in his head. And, apparently, they had stuffed some in his mouth as well. He heard the sound of muffled voices and peeled his eyes open, recognizing the infirmary. Then it came back to John in a flood of memory, the little freak out he had suffered.

"Major?"

Recognizing Teyla's voice, John turned his head on the pillow to see her rising from a nearby chair and moving to his side. "Hey," he whispered. His mouth was too dry to form proper sound.

Teyla reached for the glass of water on the bed table and held the straw for him. "Better?" she asked, after he had taken a few sips.

"Much," John replied, and he could swallow now without wincing.

"Dr. Beckett will want to know that you are awake," Teyla stated. "I will be back in a moment." With that she offered a smile before turning and gliding away.

John watched her go then let his eyes drift closed. He felt oddly calm but still tired, and he realized he wasn't achy anymore. But he was lethargic. He knew that was thanks to the sedative Beckett had pumped into him. Absently, John scratched at his shoulder where the needle had gone in, only just noticing his IV was gone. That made him happy.

Footsteps sounded and a moment later, Carson was standing at his bedside. "How are you feeling, Major?"

"Better," John replied, offering a smile to let Beckett know he was sincere.

"No headache?" Carson prompted, as he took Sheppard's vitals.

John shook his head. "It's gone. I feel good, really."

Carson nodded before moving to scribble on the major's chart. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Yeah." John winced and rubbed a hand over his head, making his hair stand up more than usual. "Sorry about the freak out. I don't know what happened. I was sleeping and then, all of the sudden, I felt like my heart was going to pound its way through my chest. It felt like I couldn't breathe...like I was going to suffocate. And I tell you what...I have never felt so terrified in all my life. And I've been in some pretty damn terrifying situations."

"I believe that," Carson responded. "For the record, your blood work came back clean. I had been thinking maybe the Cerulin's slipped you something in the juice. But there's nothing there."

John was almost disappointed. "So I didn't suffer a drug induced freak out?"

Carson shook his head. "Apparently not."

"Then what the hell happened to me?" John was becoming frustrated. He could still remember, so clearly, how terrified he had felt. The worst part of it being that he had had no control over his body.

"I'm thinking you suffered a panic attack," Carson said, his eyes locked on the major's face.

John frowned at the Scotsman then shook his head. "No...no way." He couldn't accept that.

Carson sighed then pulled up the chair Teyla had vacated. "It's not really so surprising, Major. Panic attacks are stress related and let's face it, you've had a lot of stress in your life since coming to Atlantis. Having read your files, you've had a lot of stress for a good long time. It's more surprising you haven't suffered them before now, really."

"Still not buying it, Doc," John countered. He let his head fall back on the pillows for a moment as he considered what Beckett was saying. But it didn't add up. "I've suffered through all kinds of traumatic shit," John said, talking more to himself than to Beckett. "And I've had the mother of all nightmares here and back home. But this was different."

"I'm telling you, Major...you showed the classic signs of a panic attack," Carson insisted.

John considered Beckett's words but he still had his doubts. "You know what the weirdest thing about it was?" When Beckett shook his head at him, John continued. "I felt utterly terrified, but it was like it wasn't my fear."

Carson made a face, letting his confusion show. "I'm not sure what you mean by that. If you felt it it had to be your fear."

"You would think," John allowed, then he shrugged. "I dunno...maybe I'm just remembering it wrong."

"I've talked to Dr. Heightmeyer about the incident," Carson said, as he stood up and pushed the chair back into place. "I'd like you to talk to her. I think she can help you get a handle on this and she can show you ways to ease future attacks."

John's eyes went wide at that. "What do you mean...future attacks?"

Carson winced, realizing what he had said. "Once you have a panic attack, they tend to hit with frequency. At least at first. But there are little tricks you can use to get through them and, eventually, they will pass. Once you learn how to deal with the stress that causes them. Which entails identifying what it is that triggers them in the first place. But Dr. Heightymeyer can help you with all of that."

"Not happening." John was adamant. He held up a hand before Beckett could protest. "Look...I had one incident and it's over and done with. I think you're jumping the gun thinking I'm suffering from panic attacks. I think it was just, you know...a one time thing. It was just one of those freaky things that only happens in the Pegasus galaxy." John knew, from experience, that those types of things happened pretty much on a daily basis here. It wasn't at all what he expected to be dealing with when he had agreed to come along on this expedition. Not that he regretted it. If he had it to do over again, he'd still come. Atlantis felt more like home than any other place he'd ever been.

"Major..." Carson's tone was stern. "I think it would be best if you at least talked to Dr. Heightmeyer. What would it hurt?"

John shook his head. He could be stubborn as a mule when it came to getting his own way. "Look...if it happens again I'll consider talking to the shrink, until then...drop it." That said, John reached for the covers only to find his wrist gripped by strong fingers.

Carson glared at the major. "Just where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"Out of here," John replied, trying to shake off Beckett's hand. But the man had a grip like a vice. "I'm fine!" John insisted, feeling frustration well up in him. But it ebbed away, like a wave on the beach, before taking hold of him. "Really, I'm fine." John said calmly.

"Be that as it may," Carson countered, as he released the major's wrist. "You're staying put for a few more hours. If you behave yourself I might let you out after lunch. For now I'd like to keep you under observation. Consider it a precautionary measure."

John sighed then nodded. He knew that Beckett was just doing his job and looking out for his best interests. "Fine...I'll stay until after lunch."

Carson looked relieved. "Good lad. I'll send someone for a breakfast tray. I want you to eat up, Major. And drink lots of juice. It'll do you good."

"Yes mother," John drawled, but he was smiling as he said it. He was relieved when Carson shook a finger at him then walked away. Alone now, John settled back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He still felt tired but, at the same time, he felt oddly at peace.

True to his word, Beckett released John after lunch, but it came with a hitch. Which John should have expected. He was grounded for two days, the excuse being he was under medical observation. Normally that would have pissed him off but he discovered he was okay with it. Beckett's reasoning that he could suffer another attack out in the field was logical and John accepted it with good grace. He was almost amused by Beckett's stunned reaction to that.

After leaving the infirmary, John headed for his room. He took a long shower and dressed in jeans and a pullover. He was just lacing on his boots when a knock sounded on the door. "Come in!" John called out.

The doors slid open and Elizabeth entered the room. She was smiling. "How are you feeling, Major?" she asked in greeting.

"I'm good." John stood up and smiled at her. He meant what he said. He was feeling good and it wasn't just in a physical sense. He felt happy and content. Which was odd and probably should have bothered him while sending off all kinds of warning signals. But it didn't.

"You look better than the last time I saw you," Elizabeth allowed. "Beckett informed you that you're grounded, correct?"

John nodded. "Correct. I figure I can use the time to catch up on things around here. Like reports and such."

Elizabeth looked surprised but shook it off. "You could do that," she allowed. "Although I believe you're pretty well caught up with your reports, aren't you?"

"Could be." John had always made it a point to keep up to date on any kind of paper work. It was hell to play catch up once you got behind. "That being the case...any suggestions on how not to be bored for the next two days?"

"You could help Rodney out in the lab," Elizabeth replied. "He was complaining to me at the meeting this morning that there are some devices he can't get to activate."

John nodded and felt surprisingly intrigued. "I could do that," he allowed. In fact he found himself looking forward to it. Which was another warning bell going off, but John ignored it. Instead he headed out of his room, keeping Weir company until they needed to part ways, then John headed for Rodney's lab. Only to discover that Rodney was in a secondary lab on the seventh level.

It was a nice walk to the lab and John found himself whistling as he made his way through the winding corridors to the lab. Once he reached the open doors he could hear mild cursing. Grinning to himself, John snuck in. Rodney was buried beneath some console, muttering to himself. Moving closer John said loudly, "Hi Rodney!"

"What the..." There was panic in Rodney's voice and he sat up, bumping his head on the underside of the console. What followed was a string of colorful curses.

"Why Rodney, I didn't know you spent time with sailors," John teased, as the scientist came out from under the console to glare at him. "Must have been Russian sailors. Sounded like a few Russian curses mixed in there."

Rodney scrambled to his feet, still rubbing the sore spot on his head. "What the hell are you trying to do, Major? Give me a heart attack?"

John offered an innocent smile. "Actually...I'm hear to light things up. Weir said you needed help."

"I do," Rodney groused, then he muttered for a moment before pointing to a table in the corner. "Start touching things and see if you can get them to activate."

"Yes, master," John drawled, baiting Rodney yet again. He smirked in the face of the glare that was leveled at him then strolled over towards the table. In doing so he had to pass by Rodney. John paused and sniffed the air. "What is that smell?" His nose crinkled in distaste.

Rodney flushed red. "Not my fault," he muttered.

John leaned in and sniffed again only to back off and plug his nose with his fingers. "That is rancid. Seriously...what is that?"

"Cologne!" Rodney spat out.

"Cologne?" John echoed, in disbelief. "Are you sure it isn't starter fluid?"

Rodney huffed a sigh. "It's not my fault. Zelenka has been...experimenting. He spritzed me with the damn stuff before I could stop him."

John released his nose so he could snort through it. "You mean to tell me Zelenka is trying to make cologne?"

" 'Trying' being the operative word," Rodney pointed out as he sniffed himself. The face he made showed his disgust at his own odor.

"He needs to keep working on it," John allowed. He took a sideways step towards the table. "I'll be over here touching things. You stay over there," He pointed to the area off to his left. "Down wind."

Rodney didn't even bother to glare at him this time. "Ha ha." But he took a step in that direction. He fiddled with some tools then asked, "Are you okay?"

John paused from touching one of the devices on the table and turned to face Rodney. He could see genuine concern in the other man's eyes. "Yeah...I'm fine. No big deal."

"Freaking out isn't a big deal?" Rodney looked surprised.

"Beckett thinks it was a panic attack," John replied, then he shrugged it off. "I think it was just a really bad dream."

Rodney was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, then he blurted out, "I used to suffer panic attacks."

Now it was John's turn to be surprised. "You did?"

"Yeah...they suck. College years." Rodney made a face. "You know...fish out of water syndrome. Stressed me out."

"I'm not stressed." There was no anger in John's words, just finality. He knew he was stressed, as was everyone, but he still didn't accept the fact that what he had suffered was a panic attack. "It wasn't my fear," he added, without meaning to.

Rodney paused, drawing his focus from the panel he had been working on to look at Sheppard. "Then whose?" he questioned.

John sighed, wishing he had the answer to that. "I don't know. Don't mind me." He stared at the table full of devices. "Anything in particular you want me to touch?"

"The rectangle thing on the end. Kinda looks like a light saber handle," Rodney pointed out.

"Got it." John picked it up and it lit up the moment it touched his palm. Then it started vibrating a bit and it felt warm. John tensed and was about to put it down, getting the feeling something bad was going to happen. But it was too late. The next thing he knew he was flying across the room. Then there was a flash of white, a feeling of pain exploding in his head. Then darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

John heard the sound of voices arguing and recognized that it was Rodney and Beckett. Mostly Rodney. It was his voice that was raised and John could tell that Rodney was upset, even though he couldn't quite make out the words. He did hear his own name mentioned however and tried to wake up more so he could pay attention. But he felt a bit fuzzy headed and achy and he realized he was back in the infirmary but he didn't remember why. Until Rodney's voice got louder and John could finally understand what they were saying.

"...he got thrown across the room and hit the wall! Hard! What part of that are you not understanding?" Rodney snapped.

Carson's voice was calm but a bit of impatience crept into it. "Rodney...I understand what happened, but I've run a myriad of tests on the major and he's fine. The device didn't do anything to him. He's bruised and he's going to be sore for a while, but he'll be fine."

Rodney snorted. "Right. Then why hasn't he woke up yet? Explain that, Dr. Voodoo."

"Maybe because he's tired," Carson shot back, exasperation making him a bit louder than before.

"Maybe because he's awake!" John called out, and regretted it when the sound of his own voice made his head ache. He watched a hand yank the privacy curtain aside, and he was surprised by the fact he had just realized that there was a privacy curtain enclosing his bed. Then Carson was there beside him, smiling at him, penlight in hand. John winced. He hated that damn light.

Carson narrowed his gaze at him. "How are you feeling, Major?"

John considered his reply. He didn't want to spend any more time than necessary in here. "A little sore but okay," he said at last. Then he caught sight of Rodney who shuffled forward, looking tense. A flare of anger went off inside of John. More than anger. Rage. A spike of pure, white-hot, rage. The intensity of him shook him.

Carson saw him shudder. "Major...are you cold, laddie?"

"No...I'm fine." But John was still shaking and he answered the doc through clenched teeth. He was trying to hold back an angry retort. Anger that was still directed at Rodney. Anger that he felt, eerily, detached from.

"You don't look fine." This from Rodney, who was wringing his hands and hovering.

John closed his eyes, blocking out Rodney's face. He couldn't remember ever feeling this angry before. He was vibrating from the intensity of it. It was pulsing through him, pushing him to lash out with both words and fists. So John curled his fingers into the blankets, willing himself not to move.

Carson was watching the major with concern. "Rodney's right...you don't look fine," he stated, and he reached out to press a hand to Sheppard's face. "You're flushed, perhaps a bit of a fever then."

"No!" John almost snarled the word. Then he clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth to keep silent. Every muscle in his body was locked up as he fought to control himself. The worst of this was the fact that he didn't know why he was so angry. He wasn't happy with Rodney in the sense that McKay had asked him to touch things, not knowing what they might do to him. But at the same time John knew that McKay never would have asked him to touch them if he thought they might harm him. So this rage was over the top. John hadn't felt this angry when Kolya had told him he'd killed Weir. John had been calmly enraged then. This fury was anything but calm.

"Is he having a seizure?" Rodney's voice betrayed his panic as he asked.

Carson was scrambling for the heart monitor in the corner. He grabbed the leads and slapped the pads on John's chest then he flicked it on and was not happy with the readings. The blood pressure cup went on next and Carson clicked his tongue in concern. "Major...I need you to try and calm down."

John heard him and - dammit - he was trying, but he had no control over this. Which scared the hell out of him. Like the freak out he had suffered earlier - because he still wasn't ready to admit that it had been a panic attack - John felt like this was surreal. Like it should have been happening to someone else. He felt as if he suddenly didn't fit in his own skin. He heard the heart monitor's thready beeping and he could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. He tried to gulp in a deep breath, tried to exhale slowly, tried to disperse the anger that washed over him in never-ending waves, but nothing he did worked. His fingers were clenched so hard into the blankets that John was surprised he hadn't poked holes through them yet.

"Major...I'm going to give you a little something to help you relax," Carson said, soothingly.

A prick in his shoulder, a line of cold seeping through his veins and John felt his muscles start to go lax. Just one more thing he had no control over. But he was relieved for once, to the point where he embraced the dark oblivion.

He dreamed about his tenth birthday. His Uncle Dave had flown in from North Carolina to visit and he had a friend in town who flew helicopters and his present to John was to take him up for a three hour ride. It was the most amazing thing ever and John hadn't ever wanted to come back down to the ground. It had been in that moment his future was decided for him. He was going to fly. He was soaring now, chasing the clouds, laughing with delight but he choked on the laughter when he suddenly lost all form. His body disintegrated into mist then liquid light and he wasn't flying now so much as skittering through time and space before becoming scattered into darkness.

The darkness scared him. His older cousin, Blake, had locked him in the closet. He had only been five years old but John still remembered the fear. He remembered how heavy it had felt, how it had settled around him like a blanket but one that was wrapped too tight. It had suffocated him into silence. He hadn't cried or screamed, he had simply endured until his mother had panicked and was ready to call the police. Blake had confessed to locking him in the closet and John had blinked up at his mother when she opened the door. She had gathered him into her arms, hugging him tightly, tears sliding down her face and making his own face wet as she kissed him over and over again.

The fear was different now. Darker and sharper, tangible. He could taste it on his tongue and it gagged him. It made him clumsy and confused and he knew there was no where to hide from it. It was a part of him. It was inside him. He wanted to turn away from it, he wanted to curl inside himself but he didn't exist. He didn't breathe. He wasn't alive but he wasn't dead either. He had become the fear.

He gulped in air, sucking it deep into his lungs, wanting to scream but he exhaled without making a sound. John sat up, body shaking and slicked in a cold sweat. He remembered the dreams. But they weren't exactly memories. They were feelings. Fear and joy and the beginning of sorrow and something else that he couldn't define. Something that felt unfamiliar and it made him feel uncomfortable in a way he couldn't even explain to himself. Sliding off the bed, John stumbled into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He didn't do it to wake himself up, he was wide awake in this moment. Awake and tense and hyperaware of every sound in the room, every shadow that danced along the walls. He reached out with one hand, forgetting that his skin was still wet, and touched the mirror, pressing his palm over his face. Covering the face of a stranger.

Three days had passed since his second incident in the infirmary. Whatever Beckett had given John had allowed him to relax and sleep for twelve hours straight. He had awakened to find a perplexed, but pleased, Beckett hovering over him. Everything appeared to be back to normal and John had been released to his room with a two day supply of Tylenol. He had been a bit sore but otherwise had felt fine. The anger was gone, although John had felt a lingering, residual, effect that he had been able to ignore. One shower later he had curled up on his bed with War and Peace and had read himself to sleep. Rodney had shown up with supper and John had been glad of the company. Glad enough to play chess and he had whumped McKay but good, three games straight. That night John had slept without dreaming.

The night after he had done the same. Then he had begged Beckett to put him back on duty but had been told he'd have to wait at least one more day. So John had pestered Rodney, did spot inspections on his men, had sat in on a few briefings with Weir and then he had practiced stick fighting with Teyla. She had taken it easy on him. All in all he'd managed to wear himself out and sleep soundly.

Last night he had dreamed and the dreams had freaked him out to the point where he had nearly gone to the infirmary to beg for drugs. But John had managed to talk himself out of it. He had showered instead then he'd left his room to wander around Atlantis until the post dawn hours. He had then allowed Beckett to poke and prod him some more, all the while assuring Beckett that he hadn't suffered any more panic attacks. After which Beckett agreed to let him back through the gate in the morning. John had almost raced off to tell Weir the good news and she had looked relieved and told him to report to her first thing in the morning for a briefing, then he and the team would be sent out on a mission. She had a couple of places she wanted checked out and she would decide which one then.

Which led John to this moment, with time on his hands. He felt a little tired so he headed for his room and stretched out on the bed, figuring he would take a little nap. But when he closed his eyes he found he couldn't relax. He felt unsettled in a way he couldn't explain at first. Jittery. Giving up on the nap idea, John left his room and found himself heading for the gym. Not so surprisingly he found Teyla there, working out. John leaned against the doorway for a moment, watching her. Admiring her grace and strength and in doing so he found himself relaxing, the jittery feeling fading away.

"Major?" Teyla ended her routine and moved to stand before him.

"Hey, Teyla." John offered a smile. "Nice work out. Every time I watch you like this I keep rethinking why I practice with you."

Teyla inclined her head at the compliment then offered, "You have come a long way, Major. If you remember to practice, you will surprise even yourself at your skill."

John was pleased to hear that but shrugged. "Don't always have a lot of time for practicing."

"Do you wish to practice now?" Teyla asked.

"No...but I would like to take a walk. Would you join me?" John wasn't sure why he was making the offer, he knew only that he didn't to be alone right now and that he enjoyed Teyla's company because she seemed to understand him better than most people. And she was someone he could be with, without talking, and there were no awkward silences. John didn't really feel like talking right now, he just wanted a distraction from the chaos of his own thoughts and feelings right now.

Teyla nodded at him. "Allow me to change then I will join you."

John smiled, glad she had agreed. "I'll walk you to your room then I'll wait for you on the east balcony." There was a section of Atlantis he wanted to explore. So they walked to Teyla's room then parted company. John then made his way to the east balcony. He enjoyed the view from here but he found himself feeling jittery again. Jittery and uneasy and he finally realized he was feeling panicked. But it was different from the first time. It was a different kind of fear. Not terror this time, just the sense that he was alone and abandoned and he found himself almost running off the balcony, frantically searching for someone, anyone, so that he would not feel so alone. John was breathing hard, he could feel his chest constricting and he was about to head for a transporter when he spotted Teyla walking towards him.

The fear began to abate and he could breathe again. John offered a weak wave then turned away from her for a moment, trying to calm himself. He turned back when he felt a hand on his arm. "Hey, ready to go?" John blurted out. He hoped she wouldn't be able to see how shaken he felt.

"I am ready," Teyla allowed. "Are you all right, major? You look...pale."

"I'm good." John tried to be convincing. He plastered a smile on his face then started walking. "Feel like checking out the west pier?"

Teyla smiled back and nodded. "Yes...I have not been there so I would like to see it."

John felt himself relaxing further, feeling more himself again. "Great...let's do it." He watched her fall into step beside him and they headed out. By the time they reached the pier, he felt relaxed and in control of himself again. He was also stunned by the beauty before him. Stretched out was the city in all her glory. From this section they could see the rest of the city and she was breathtaking. And John said as much. In fact, he expounded on it for several minutes, stopping only when he realized Teyla was looking at him funny. "What?" John prompting, feeling suddenly uneasy under her scrutiny.

"It is nothing," Teyla replied, looking uncertain.

"You're staring at me like I just grew a second head," John shot back. "What is it?"

Teyla shrugged. "It is just that...you are not one to share your feelings so openly. It surprised me is all."

John was puzzled by that. Not that she was wrong, but he hadn't really shared his feelings. "I was just admiring the view, Teyla. Is that so surprising?" He felt the need to defend himself.

"You revealed much through your admiration," she replied, a soft smile curving her lips. "You are very connected to Atlantis and to the people in it."

"I guess." John felt himself flush a bit as he replayed what he had said and realized she was right about how it had sounded. And she was also right about the fact that he wasn't one to share his feelings so openly. With anyone. The jittery feeling was returning and John turned away. "We should go back," he said, abruptly. Relief washed over him when Teyla merely nodded and followed him back the way they had come.

"Did I mention I'm sorry?" Rodney blurted out the question while he and Sheppard were on their way to the messhall.

John quirked an eyebrow at him. "Sorry for what?"

Rodney grimaced. "You know...for the thing in the lab. You getting blown across the room. It was pretty cool though. Like something out of an action movie."

"You like action movies?" John couldn't hide his surprise.

"Some action movies. And anything with Jackie Chan in it."

That made John freeze to stare at Rodney in disbelief. "You like Jackie Chan?"

Rodney glared at Sheppard. "Why do you say it like that? Am I not allowed to like Jackie Chan?"

"I don't know. Are geniuses allowed to like Jackie Chan?" John teased. Teasing Rodney was one of his favorite past times.

"Do you like Jackie Chan?" Rodney countered.

John shrugged. "He's very cool. I like Mark Dacascous too. The guy has some great moves. Not as funny as Jackie Chan though."

Rodney crossed his arms and looked smug. "Bet you figure I don't know who Mark Dacascous is, don't you?"

John was about to reply when he heard shouting and that set him in motion. He ran around the corner to find two marines fighting. They were throwing punches and slamming each other into the wall. "KNOCK IT OFF!" John thundered at them. His shouting got them to freeze for a moment, but John saw the bigger one, Sgt. Rodriguez, about to throw another punch. He didn't stop to think, he just stepped in front of the guy, who took the swing anyway. John ducked then popped back up and cold-cocked the guy, knocking him on his ass.

"Are you nuts?" Rodney was just catching up to him and he eyed the scene before him with trepidation. The marine on the floor was twice Sheppard's size.

John ignored Rodney and moved to face the other marine. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

Sgt. Berkley winced before jerking himself to attention. "Difference of opinion, sir!" he snapped off.

"I want you to escort Sgt. Rodriguez to the infirmary then both of you will report to Sgt. Bates and give detailed reports as to what just happened here. I will be reading those reports later and deciding on your punishment." John's voice was keyed low but there was a sharpness to it he knew Berkley didn't miss.

"Yes, sir," Berkley replied. He then moved to help Rodriguez to his feet and the two marines stumbled down the hallway.

Rodney stared at Sheppard in disbelief. "You just decked a guy who is twice your size!"

John nodded, shaking his fist. Rodriguez had a hard chin. "I know that, Rodney," he stated.

"That guy could have killed you," Rodney pointed out.

"I'm his C.O." John figured that explained it well enough.

Apparently, not to Rodney though. "If you hadn't ducked, he would have knocked your head off. Don't you get that? So what do you do? You just punch him back? Just like that?"

John nodded. "Just like that. You can't be intimidated by size, Rodney."

"Oh really?" Rodney looked put out. "Aren't you the one who told me size does matter?"

"It does, depending on what you're talking about," John allowed, with a chuckle. "Now...you still hungry? I am." John started walking again.

Rodney sighed and fell into step beside him. "I'm always hungry," he reminded Sheppard. "So how's your hand?"

John flexed his fingers. "I'll live. So you ready to go back through the gate tomorrow?"

"Oh sure," Rodney drawled. "I'm always excited at the thought of facing my impending doom once again."

"Good." John clapped Rodney on the back then stepped ahead of him, feeling a contentedness that he hadn't felt in a long time.

The mission was a bust. Rodney was complaining about his time being wasted on a planet that was nothing but gray and damp. There were no people, no building, no readings worth checking out. As they trudged back to the gate Rodney continued bitching.

"What was Elizabeth thinking sending us here?" Rodney complained, as he stopped to shake excess mud off his boots. A pointless exercise given the fact the ground was pretty much layered in mud.

"I believe she was thinking we might find something useful," Teyla interjected, pointedly.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "I told her there was nothing here. If she had just listened to me we wouldn't have wasted half a day on this crappy planet."

John had been trying to keep his mouth shut, but he felt something inside him snap. As Rodney continued to complain, anger slid into rage. A rage that was icy and intense and before he could stop himself he was on Rodney, fingers closing around the other man's throat, choking him.

Rodney squeaked then he couldn't make another sound as his eyes bulged out of his head from the pressure on his throat.

Ford jumped in to break them up.

John let go of McKay long enough to deal with the lieutenant. He backhanded Ford hard, sending him to the ground in a heap. Then John went back to McKay, hauling him up from his knees to try and choke him again. He was blinded by his need to kill him. The intensity of that need was overwhelming. And John would have succeeded in crushing the life out of McKay, had Teyla not intervened by clocking him in the back of the head with her P90.

Pain burst through his head, sending off starbursts to dance in his eyes. Then John watched as everything faded to black.


	4. Chapter 4

Elizabeth closed the door to the conference room then moved to stand at the head of the table. She let her eyes wander over Teyla, Ford and Rodney. The trio were seated around the table and they looked as worn out as she felt. "Are you all right?" she asked the group, in general.

"I am fine," Teyla replied, her eyes sweeping over her teammates.

Ford rubbed at the bruise on his temple. "Doctor Beckett says I'm good. No concussion or anything, just a bit of a headache."

Elizabeth nodded. "Glad to hear that." She turned to the other person in the room. "Rodney? You okay?"

"Just peachy!" Rodney snapped, one hand lifting, fingertips skimming over the red marks on his neck. Finger-shaped marks.

"Rodney." Elizabeth's voice was soft but she let him see, by the look in her eye, that she was concerned about him.

Rodney sighed. "Throat hurts a bit but...I'll be fine." That said he, grumpily, slumped down deeper into his chair.

Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose then asked, "What happened?"

"I wish I knew, ma'am," Ford replied. He looked a bit jittery. "One minute the major seemed just fine...the next he's trying to choke the life out of Dr. McKay. It was...it just happened so fast."

"Rodney, did you do...or say...anything to provoke the major?" Elizabeth queried.

Blue eyes went wide as Rodney glared at her in disbelief. "Are you implying this is my fault? That I made him want to choke me? You are...aren't you?" He didn't give Elizabeth a chance to interject as he rambled on. "I'll have you know I wasn't anywhere near the major at the time, nor was I speaking to him. Satisfied?"

Elizabeth resisted the urge to sigh as she formed a smile and tried to appease him. "Rodney...I'm just trying to figure out what happened. And, for the record, no...I don't think this was your fault."

"I do not believe it was the major's fault either," Teyla piped up. When everyone looked in her direction she added, "He has not been himself of late."

"True enough," Elizabeth allowed. It was a reminder none of them really needed. Sheppard had been like the Rock of Gibraltar for all of Atlantis since their arrival. To see him cracking and crumbling was unnerving and Elizabeth wished there was something she could do, some magic she could perform, to put Sheppard back together again. "I just wish I knew why this was happening. It doesn't make sense," she whispered, louder than she had intended.

Rodney sighed loudly. "Guess we'll just have to wait until the major wakes up. Maybe he can explain it to us." With that he pushed himself out of his chair and strode out the door, muttering beneath his breath.

Elizabeth looked at the others. "You're dismissed," she told them. She watched Ford and Teyla walk out, Teyla closing the door behind her. Then Elizabeth buried her face in her hands. She wasn't ready to deal with the possible reality that Major Sheppard might be suffering a break down. "Be careful what you wish for, Elizabeth," she warned herself. But right now she couldn't help but wish she was back home, on Earth.

John came to awareness slowly. There was a dull ache radiating from the base of his skull and it throbbed up through his temples and it was this pain that had nudged him back to consciousness. He opened his eyes, blinking hard to bring everything into focus, realizing he was in the infirmary only he couldn't remember why. He let his eyes drift closed again then it hit him, like a flash bang. He had tried to choke Rodney to death.

Eyes flying open again, John tried to sit up. The throbbing in his temples became spikes of pain shooting back down to the base of his skull and making him feel nauseous. John made to grip his head but his arms were restricted and when he looked down he realized he was in restraints. Which set off an entirely new freak out. Ignoring the pain in his head, John began yanking on the restraints, trying to rip them off the sides of the bed.

Carson must have heard the commotion because he came running over, hands pressing into Sheppard's shoulders, trying to ease him back against the pillows. "Easy, laddie. Try to calm down."

"Where's McKay?" John demanded, still tugging on the restraints. He could feel the skin on his wrists tearing and he didn't give a damn. He needed to know that Rodney was alright. John locked eyes with Beckett. "Is Rodney okay? I didn't...I didn't-" John broke off, unwilling, and unable, to say what he feared.

"Rodney is fine, alive and well," Carson stated, his hands now moving down to grip Sheppard's forearms in an attempt to get him to stop tugging on the restraints. "Alive, well, and bitching," Carson amended.

John clenched his hands into fists and forced himself to relax. The relief that washed over him helped unknot the tension in his body and he sagged back against the pillows. But his throat was tight and he felt emotionally raw as he whispered, "Not for lack of trying." And wasn't that a kick in the face kind of reality? He had tried to kill his friend and teammate. John had done a lot of fucked up things in his life, most of them throughout his military career, but he had never tried to do something this fucked up before.

Carson was busy checking the major's wrists and making clucking noises. But he stopped long enough to comment, "You didn't succeed, major...that's all that matters. Now...I'm going to go get some bandages and wrap your wrists. You did a fair job tearing them up."

"Can't you take these off?" John tugged, gently, on the restraints.

"They stay for now," Carson said firmly. "Both Weir and I agree it's best for the moment."

John understood and nodded. "So...what do I have to do to get them off?" He knew the answer but needed to hear Beckett say it.

Carson sighed. "Just rest for a moment while I get what I need then we'll talk." He was gone and back in a flash, grabbing a stool and sitting down before cleaning up the damage Sheppard had done to himself. "How are you feeling, Major?" Carson asked, conversationally.

"Head hurts." That was as honest as John was willing to get at the moment. He felt jittery and confused but he wasn't going to confess to that. Not yet anyway.

"You have a mild concussion," Carson replied. "Teyla whacked you pretty hard, so I want you to try and relax and rest. You're going to be here for a few days."

John had figured as much. He watched as Beckett moved the stool to the other side of the bed to work on his other wrist. "So...you didn't answer my question. What do I have to do to get out of the restraints?"

Carson made a face. "Talk to Dr. Weir. As soon as I'm done here I'll let her know you're awake."

"Okay." John didn't argue. He was too tired to argue, besides which he knew it wouldn't do any good until he talked to Weir. So he let himself drift off on a sudden and unexpected wave of calmness. The anxiety he had been feeling just skittered away like leaves on the wind. He felt at peace and he embraced it as darkness whispered over him.

When John opened his eyes again it was to find Elizabeth sitting on the stool next to his bed. He shifted a bit, only then remembering the restraints that bit into his sore wrists. John grimaced as his head reminded him he was concussed, but he shrugged it off because he knew he needed to be focused now. He had to figure out what the hell was going on. "Been here long?" he asked, wondering how long he'd slept.

"Not long," Elizabeth replied, as she rose from the stool to move closer. "How do you feel?"

"I'll have to get back to you on that," John countered, smoothly, and it was only then that he realized there was someone else in the area. John turned his head to see Kate Heightmeyer smiling at him. That's when it clicked into place. He knew what he had to do to get out of here. "Guess you're here to figure out if I'm crazy or not," John said to the Heightmeyer.

Kate's smile didn't falter. "I'm just here to help you get through this difficult period in your life, major."

John looked back over at Elizabeth. "So...if I talk to the good doc I can get out of here, right?" He tugged on his restraints a bit so that she would be clear as to what he meant.

"That's the plan," Elizabeth replied, and she looked sad as she spoke. "I'll leave you to talk to Kate, major. We'll talk later." With that she threw him a put upon smile then exited the room.

"So..." John turned back to Heightmeyer. "If I'm good will you take the restraints off?" he asked, figuring it was best to be blunt.

Kate moved closer, her eyes locked on his face as if she was trying to see inside him. "That's pretty much how this works," she allowed. "Just so we both know where we stand, Dr. Beckett told me about the panic attacks."

John wasn't surprised to hear that. Thing was, he still wasn't sure that's what was happening here. But he didn't tell Heightmeyer that, he simply looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

"Have you had any more attacks?" Kate prompted, catching on that Sheppard expected her to make the first move, so to speak.

"No!" John snapped, then instantly regretted it. But he didn't apologize.

A thoughtful expression crossed Kate's face. "When you attacked Dr. McKay...do you remember what you felt at the time?" she asked.

John didn't want to remember, but it wasn't like he had to think about it. A flashback of that moment played out in his head, making his shudder. "I was furious," he whispered. "Enraged. I couldn't...I couldn't think straight, couldn't control it." And that was a hard confession to make. John hated not being in control of himself. It scared him. He knew, better than anyone, how dangerous he could be.

"What about now?" Kate countered. "Do you still feel that rage?"

"No." John didn't say anything more and he didn't feel like he needed to. What he felt now was calm and in control and that was all he cared about.

Kate was frowning as she asked, "Do you remember what triggered the rage? Was it something Dr. McKay said...or did?"

John shook his head. "I don't think so. He was complaining about something but I learned how to tune him out a long time ago. That rage just...it was just there all of the sudden. I don't remember attacking him. I just remembered how it felt choking him. How he looked." John realized he was trembling at the memory and that he could still feel Rodney struggling against his suffocating grip.

"Major." Kate touched his shoulder, jerking him out of his memories. She smiled at him, trying to offer comfort. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I firmly believe you're suffering from post- traumatic stress syndrome and, given your past history and everything that's happened to you since you came to Atlantis, it's really a wonder that it didn't hit you before now."

"What does that mean exactly?" John still didn't believe the prognosis, but he would accepted it for now because he knew it was his only means of getting out of the restraints and out of the infirmary sometime in the near future. "I mean...if you're right, what do I have to do to fix it?"

Kate narrowed her gaze at him. "There's not some magic cure, Major. For starters, you'll be grounded indefinitely and you'll be in daily sessions with me, at least at first. We'll take it slow and go from there."

It wasn't what John wanted to hear but he didn't argue with her. There was no point in it, not now at least. But he did tug on his restraints. "Can you take these off?" he asked. They reminded him too much of the time he had been captured on a mission and bound in shackles for six days, before being rescued.

"I think we can do that," Kate allowed, as she reached out to undo the strap closest to her.

"Thank you," John said, as his wrists was freed. He waved her away as she made to move around the bed to free the other side. "I got it." He made short work of freeing himself and resisted the urge to rubs his wrists. But he did unwrap the loose bandages Beckett had applied to his chafed skin. "When do we start the sessions?" John figured he would cooperate for now, in every way. He would prove to Heightmeyer and Weir and even Beckett that he was okay. He would use the time to figure out what really was going on in his head.

Kate was smiling again. "I think tomorrow will be soon enough."

Just then Carson popped in, looking hopeful. He noticed that the restraints were gone and relief washed over his face. "How are you feeling, Major? Are you hungry?"

"A little," John allowed. "I need to use the bathroom." He was hoping he could chase Heightmeyer away. It worked.

"I'll come back tomorrow morning, Major," she told him. "But if you want to talk before then, just have Dr. Beckett call me."

John nodded, curving his mouth into a warm smile. He wouldn't be calling for her, but he could be agreeable. "I'll do that," he drawled, then he watched her nod and walk away.

Carson patted his shoulder. "Do you feel strong enough to get up and use the facilities, or do you need a urinal?"

"I can get up," John shot back, yanking off the covers. Once on his feet he wavered a moment and had to swallow against a sudden head rush and the ensuing nausea, but it passed and he made it to the bathroom on his own power, although Beckett hovered beside him. By the time John was done he was ready to lie down again, but when he got back to his bed it was to discover he had visitors. "Hey guys," John said to his teammates.

Ford looked uncertain but he smiled. "Good to see you, sir."

John let Beckett push him back into bed and fuss with the covers before replying. "I'm sorry about what happened, Ford. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, sir," Ford replied. "Are you?"

"I will be," John said firmly, because he had to believe it.

Teyla moved to his side and touched his arm, drawing his attention. "I am sorry for the injury I caused you, Major," she said softly.

John patted her hand. "It's okay, Teyla. You did what you had to do." He didn't blame her for whacking the shit out of him. If she hadn't Rodney would be dead. He wanted to say something about that but a nurse suddenly appeared with a tray of food and Beckett shooed Ford and Teyla out of the infirmary. John waved goodbye then studied the food set out before him. Just the smell of it made his stomach lurch. "I'm not really hungry right now," he told Beckett.

"You need to eat," Carson countered. "Just try a bite of toast and a sip of soup," he urged.

It was easier to do as he was told than argue. So John took a bite of toast and nearly choked trying to get it down. Luckily, Beckett got the hint and removed the tray. "When can I get out of here?" John asked, as he settled in against the pillows. He was tired but he knew he would rest better in his own room, in his own bed.

Carson put off answering for a moment by taking the major's vitals, only then did he reply, "I'll probably release you tomorrow, unless Dr. Heightymeyer says otherwise."

"Good." John was going to make sure Heightmeyer was agreeable. He let his eyes drift closed but had to ask one last question. "Are you sure Rodney's all right?"

"He's fine," Carson said firmly. "Sleep, Major. You need it." With that he was gone.

John sighed and shifted again, feeling a bit jittery. But then a warm calm settled over him like a soft blanket and he drifted off into darkness.

The next day John made it a point to eat as much of his breakfast as he could. Soon after he was done, Heightmeyer showed up and he did his best to answer her questions as honestly as he could. But sometimes she got too personal and pushed too hard and John was hard put to remain civil with her. Apparently, however, he passed his first session with flying colors because two hours later John was released to his room. Beckett gave him strict orders to stay in bed for another day, but John stripped the moment the doors closed behind him and stepped into the shower. Once he was dressed again he headed straight for Rodney's lab.

McKay was sitting at the table in the back, working on his laptop. John approached him cautiously. "Rodney?"

"Major!" Rodney jumped and nearly slid off his stool. "Aren't you supposed to be in your room?" As he asked, Rodney took a few steps back, putting distance between them.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," John replied, not missing what Rodney was doing. It made his stomach coil into knots to see the flicker of fear in McKay's eyes. The other man was scared of him. John couldn't blame him, but it was hurt to see it. Hurt in a way that burned deep in John's soul. "I'm sorry about what happened," he said, offering a lame apology.

Rodney shrugged then took another step back. "You weren't yourself, forget about it."

John wished it was that easy. "Can you?" he countered, and he wanted Rodney to tell him yes.

"It's already forgotten," Rodney stated with false bravado.

"Sure." John felt as if a knife was twisting in his gut but it wasn't a physical pain. It was something deeper and more desperate. He felt himself backing away now. "I...I'll let you get back to work," John whispered, already turning away. He couldn't face the fear that shadowed Rodney's eyes. So John fled the room, almost racing down the corridor until he reached the nearest transporter. He hit the panel, not caring where it let him off, then he walked. He walked until his legs felt like rubber and he found himself just about crawling back to his room.

But it wasn't exhaustion that weighed John down. It was despair. Deep, dark and desperate, it wrapped around him like a shroud, suffocating him until it was hard to breathe. He trembled from the intensity of it. It seeped into his very soul and he recoiled from it, from the bitter sadness, which throbbed relentlessly inside him. John felt like he was drowning and tears burned in his eyes.

He didn't realize he was crying until he scrubbed at his eyes and his palm came away wet. He fell to his knees and crawled over to the bed. He reached under it, pulling out a flat box. Inside was a small, ornamental, dagger. A gift from his favorite uncle for his sixteenth birthday. John carried it with him wherever he went. His Uncle had died twenty years ago and the dagger had sentimental value. His uncle had always believed that John would someday fly, even though he hadn't lived long enough to see it.

Clutching the dagger in one hand, John stumbled into the bathroom. The tears were still flowing down his face and he was shaking so hard his legs wouldn't hold him. But he managed to crawl into the shower, cramming himself into the farthest corner. Then John thought the water on. The despair he felt, the sadness, welled up and washed over him, pressing him back into the tiles, smothering everything that was light and warm and good inside him, leaving only the cold and bitter darkness.

John closed his eyes. Without hesitation, without flinching, he drew the sharp edge of the blade over his wrist, slicing deep into the abraded flesh.

The pressure eased, bleeding into the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

John heard a soft voice and it took a moment to recognize whom it belonged to. Elizabeth. He couldn't define what she was saying, but it seemed like something he should know. It was with great effort that John shook off the hazy shadows that wanted to pull him back into oblivion. He had rather liked it there, though. It had been peaceful and quiet. But he forced his eyes open and when he turned his head he saw that Elizabeth was reading from a book. He recognized it. His copy of _War and Peace_. John opened his mouth to say her name but winced at the croaking sound that came out of him. "'lizbet..."

She heard him and nearly dropped the book. Rising from the chair she set it down on the bedside table and moved closer to lean over him. "Welcome back, Major. How do you feel?"

He tried to swallow against the dryness in his throat and shook his head at her. Luckily she got the message and offered him a glass of water. John tried to reach for it only to realize he was, once again, in restraints. The pull of them against his wrists was painful and he yelped a bit.

"Easy, John...you need to lie still." With her free hand Elizabeth gripped the arm closest to her. Then she held the straw for him so he could take a sip.

"What happened?" John asked, after a few swallows of water eased the dryness in his throat.

Elizabeth sighed as she put the glass back on the table then gripped the side rails on the bed, her knuckles going white. "What do you remember?" she countered.

John stared at her hand for a moment, realizing that the bed had side rails. He hadn't noticed that before. Then he shook away the trivial thought and tried to focus on answering Elizabeth's question. He glanced up at her face, seeing the weariness that was etched in the lines around her eyes and beside her mouth. That bothered him that she looked so tired and pale. So worn out. Then it him, the memory of what had happened, and he suddenly understood the look in her eyes. Sadness and sympathy. "God...no..." John shook his head. His fingers clenched as he remembered the feel of the knife in his hand. He remembered the bite of the blade as it sliced into his flesh.

"Beckett found you," Elizabeth stated, trying to fill in the blanks for him. "He went to check on you and when you didn't answer he did a medical override on the door and he found you. You'd bled out heavily and you were in shock. It was a struggle to bring you back. You went in and out on us for a while." She spoke as if reciting a memorized list.

"How long?" John realized it was a kind of stupid question. It didn't really matter in the big picture, but he wanted to get a grasp on how much time he had lost.

Elizabeth glanced at her watch. "About 36 hours."

John closed his eyes for a moment, not wanting to see the sorrow in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "What happened...it's not what you think. It's not." He wanted to explain it to her, to make her understand what was going on, but he knew he couldn't do that when he couldn't explain it to himself.

"It's okay, John...it's not your fault." Elizabeth tried for a smile and failed, so she settled for patting his shoulder. "You're sick but we're going to help you get better."

"I'm not sick!" John hissed, anger flashing in his, now, wide-open eyes. He hated the thought of her believing that. He knew she was thinking he was suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome, but he knew that wasn't the case. This was something different, he just had to make her understand that. "I'm not sick, Elizabeth," he repeated, when she did nothing but stare at him.

Elizabeth patted his shoulder one last time then withdrew her hand. "I'll tell Carson you're awake, he'll tell you what to expect." With that she turned and walked away.

John watched her go, resisting the urge to call her back. He knew she wasn't willing to hear what he had to say. She wasn't ready to believe him and that hurt more than it should have. He let his head fall back onto the pillow, trying to remember what had pushed him to slice his wrists. He remembered feeling despondent and overwhelmed, emotions that he was familiar with but not to that degree. He had suffered more than his fair share of trauma in his life, but John had always been capable of dealing with it, even if it sometimes meant locking the shit away, deep inside him, to be dealt with later. He knew that Heightmeyer would tell him that it was those emotions and memories that he had locked away that were leaking out now and overwhelming him, but he knew that what he was feeling wasn't right.

"Major?"

John tensed then turned his head to see Beckett staring at him. He looked worried. "Hey, Doc," he said softly, than he tugged on the restraints. "So...when do I get out of these and out of here?" He was a little disturbed by the fact that both his arms and his voice were shaking.

Carson sighed then grabbed the chair, pulling it over to the bed before sitting down. "I'm going to be very straightforward with you, Major," he began.

"Straightforward is good," John allowed, trying to keep his tone light. But Beckett wasn't smiling and John realized that he wasn't going to like what the doctor had to say.

"You're on a suicide watch, major. Until further notice." Carson looked unhappy at having to deliver this news.

John felt himself tense up and he forced himself to relax. The goal was to get out of here, so he forced down a sudden spike of panic and asked, "What does that mean, exactly?"

Carson rubbed a hand over his face, as if to smooth away his obvious exhaustion. "It means that we've set up a room on the third level that's more like a little suite. It's been stripped of everything but the necessities and you'll be under watch twenty-four seven once we move you there."

"Which will be when?" John asked, his tone a bit hoarse. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't believe they were going to this extreme. That they had decided to do all of this without even giving him a chance to explain. Without being willing to listen.

"A few days from now." Carson was staring at the floor, not at Sheppard. "You'll be here until then, I want to monitor your recovery. It was a close call for a bit."

John shifted in the bed, wishing he could move his arms, wanting to cover his face, to hide from this in some small way. He felt shaken to his very core by the reality of what Beckett was telling him. He waited for the doctor to blurt out something like Just kidding, but Beckett said nothing more, he just kept staring at the floor and he looked dejected. Finally, John felt compelled to ask, "Do you really think I'm suicidal?"

Carson's head snapped up and his eyes glittered with something that was a cross between sadness and anger. "I don't want to believe it," he shot back, but it's not like you've given me a choice, Major. Facts are facts." His eyes flickered over Sheppard's bandaged wrists, then away. "Look...it's not your fault, laddie. I blame myself, truth be told. I'm your doctor...I should have seen signs of this coming."

"I'm not suicidal!" John snapped, reaching the end of his rope. "So there was nothing to see! I didn't do this." As he spoke, he tugged on the restraints. He needed to make Beckett understand. He needed to make someone understand what the hell was going on so that they could explain it to him. And that was a bit of irony that made John choke with laughter, only to try and stifle it when he realized it no doubt just confirmed Beckett's belief that he had gone off the deep end.

"Denial is a typical reaction, major." Carson was on his feet, his hands pressed to Sheppard's shoulders to keep him still. "Dr. Heightmeyer will be in later to talk to you. You'll be having daily sessions with her, of course." He spoke as if it should be expected.

John figured maybe it was. Ever since he had started acting...off...Beckett and everyone else seemed determined to send him to the shrink. Maybe he was going crazy, John thought. But he'd always believed that if you wondered it about yourself that was supposed to mean you were sane after all. But then again, crazy and insane weren't exactly the same thing and another burst of laughter escaped him. His thoughts were seriously chaotic and he felt tired and confused and he was beginning to hope...and believe...that maybe this was nothing more than a fevered dream. He was just about able to convince himself that was the case when he felt a spike of coolness in his veins and turned his head to see that Beckett had just injected his IV with something. John recognized what it was even as he felt himself sliding towards darkness. He welcomed it. When next he woke maybe his world would make sense again.

The next time John woke up he was told another twelve hours had passed. He felt disoriented from the drugs Beckett was pumping into him but he was able to get up, with help, and make it to the bathroom. His legs felt rubbery and he stumbled a few times, but it felt good to be up. Once he took care of his bladder and splashed cold water on his face, John was ushered back to his bed. He wasn't surprised to see Heightmeyer waiting for him. She smiled at him as Beckett fussed with John's IV and the blankets. John looked away as the restraints were buckled into place again. "Wait...can't you leave them off for a while?" John begged. And it was begging.

Carson hesitated then shook his head. "I think not."

"Please?" John would keep begging if he had too. He was tired of feeling like he had no control over himself.

"Major.." Carson began.

Kate intervened. "Dr. Beckett...perhaps you could leave one hand free for now? I'll be with him. Besides which, I'm sure the major is hungry and he'll need a hand free to eat."

Carson looked like he was going to argue the point but he suddenly nodded. "All right then, just the one side for now," he agreed, and he left Sheppard's right arm free, then looked him in the eye. "I'm going to send for a tray and I expect you to eat. You need to get your strength back."

"Fine," John replied. He wouldn't argue that point. He hated feeling so weak and shaky. He watched Beckett walk off then turned to face Kate. He knew he couldn't avoid talking to her and if she was going to be his ticket out of the nuthouse - so to speak - then so be it. He would cooperate with her as best he could. "So...where do we start?" John asked.

"How about with what you remember?" Kate replied. She had grabbed a stool and now brought it over to the bed and perched herself on it. "Do you remember cutting yourself?"

John nodded. "I remember."

Kate looked pleased. "Tell me what you were feeling then, Major. What pushed you to do that."

"I felt like I had no choice," John replied, and he knew she wouldn't understand the true meaning of his words. It wasn't just the despair he had been feeling that had pushed him into the act. It was the lack of control he'd had over himself, as if someone else had been pushing his buttons. Someone else had been in control of his body.

"You felt...despair?" Kate guessed.

John nodded and lifted his free hand to scrub over his head. "It was overwhelming. I felt like I couldn't bear it another minute."

Kate shifted on the stool, her expression closed off for the moment. "Have you ever felt like that before, Major?"

"Sure." John saw no reason not to be honest with her about. He was getting to the point where he almost hoped Heightmeyer could help him figure out what was wrong with him.

"Have you ever tried to hurt yourself before?" The question was asked softly.

John tensed, realizing what she was asking, realizing the connotations of it. The implication she was making. He glared at her. "No, Doc!" John hissed. "I haven't tried offing myself before! Happy?"

Kate slid off the stool and moved to touch his arm. The one that was still bound. "I'm just trying to help you deal with what's happening to you, Major. I know this isn't easy for you, it's been difficult for everyone. We all just want you to be well again."

"You make it sound like I'm sick!" John was openly angry now.

"Not sick exactly," Kate countered, then she fumbled for a better explanation as if hoping not to offend him.

John shook his head at her and sighed. "Never mind...I know what you mean." And he did. He dropped his head back to the pillow and waited for her to say something else.

Kate shifted back to the stool. "Do you remember anything after Dr. Beckett found you?" she asked.

"Not really." John closed his eyes and tried to remember. Nothing came to him. Not readily. "Why? Did I do something?"

"You were in and out of it a few times," Kate replied. "You were violent on one occasion. That's why you ended up in restraints."

Opening his mouth to make a denial, John was suddenly hit not so much with images as emotions. He remembered feeling angry. No, more than angry. Furious. Furious and scared and the feelings had left him feeling muddled and confused. They left him feeling agitated now and he didn't realize he had fisted his fingers into the blankets and was almost ripping them until a hand touched his arm. His eyes flew open.

Kate looked concerned. "I think we've done enough for today," she said gently. "Why don't you rest and eat. I know you have some friends who are anxious to visit you."

"Fine." John wasn't about to argue with her. He wanted to be left alone. He listened, waiting to hear her footsteps moving away, only to jerk and open his eyes when he felt something fold over his wrist. John felt a flash of anger as he watched Heightmeyer buckle him back into the restraint. "Guess you don't trust me," he drawled, but there was a sharpness to his tone that he knew she didn't miss.

"It's just a precaution, major," She replied, completely unruffled by his anger.

John understood that, but it didn't appease him in the least. "Can I ask you something?" he queried, as she turned to walk away from him.

Slowly turning back to face him, Kate nodded. "You can ask me anything."

"Will you give me an honest answer?" John needed her to be truthful with him.

"I can do that," she allowed.

He nodded then took a moment to make sure he really wanted to know that answer to his question. But John knew he had to ask. He had to know. "Do you believe I tried to kill myself?"

Kate looked surprised by the question and countered with one of her own. "The evidence is pretty damning, don't you think?" As she spoke she touched one of his bandaged wrists.

"That's not an answer, Doc," John replied. He was going to call her on this one.

"To be honest, I'm surprised by what happened," Kate said softly.

John felt surprisingly relieved by that, until she continued.

Squeezing his shoulder, Kate added, "But given everything that's happened to you before coming to Atlantis and since? It's not so surprising after all. In fact, in retrospect, I realize you've shown all the classic signs for PTSS. It's my fault for not catching it sooner and trying to work you through it before you hit the meltdown stage. I should have pushed for you to get into therapy the moment you shot Sumner."

"What?" John was stunned by what he was hearing. He shook his head at her. "You're wrong about this...about me!" He was getting agitated, tugging at his restraints, ignoring the pain his actions caused. John felt the burn of anger deep inside him, felt it warring with fear and something else. There was a ripple of calm serenity that jolted him and he felt his mind and his body at odds with each other. He could feel the tension knotting his muscles, but his head was telling him to relax, only he couldn't seem to follow instructions and it made John's head hurt. He felt himself start to shake and he heard Heightmeyer calling his name as if from a distance. He heard footsteps and familiar voices but everything seemed to echo around him like some vacuum. John closed his eyes and tried to shut it all out.

Then he felt it, a coolness easing through his veins and he was spiraling into darkness.

He woke up the next day to find a Teyla sitting in the chair next to his bed. She greeted him with a smile then ran off to call Beckett. After a quick exam John was allowed out of the restraints and Beckett escorted him to the bathroom. John asked if he could shower and he was given a clean set of scrubs then his wrists were wrapped in something that looked like cellophane to protect the bandages. He showered quickly and got dressed and was a little surprised to find Teyla still waiting for him when he was escorted back to bed.

"I'll get some toast and juice for you," Carson said as he pulled the blankets over Sheppard.

"That's it?" John asked, more than a little surprised that the restraints were being buckled back on and he wasn't being asked a million questions.

Carson made a face then sighed. He understood that Sheppard wasn't referring to breakfast. "I have a guard outside the door and someone will be with you at all times, Major," he explained. "Teyla said she'll stay for a bit so I'm trusting you to behave."

John winced at that, feeling like he was five years old again. "Gee, I'll try to be good," he drawled, and he was rather glad when Beckett looked a bit guilty. Only John realized it wasn't the doc's fault that he was in this condition. Beckett was a good guy and a good doctor. John sighed then apologized. "Sorry...I'm just feeling touchy."

"I know. I'll get your breakfast." Carson smiled then nodded to Teyla before disappearing.

"How are you feeling, Major?" Teyla asked, the moment they were alone.

It would have been easy enough to give her a snappy reply, but John had too much respect for Teyla to do that. Besides which, her opinion of him mattered because she saw people in a way few others did. She saw past whatever facade people felt the need to present to the rest of the world, including himself, and she accepted people for who they really were without judgment. It was something that John had always admired about. So instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. "Do you think I'm losing it?"

Teyla looked puzzled for a moment, then she moved closer to the bed and touched his arm. "Losing it?" she echoed.

"Going crazy, falling apart," John clarified. "Heightmeyer is putting it in nicer terms calling it a melt down or, technically, PTSS. But it means the same thing. I mean...I know that I've done some really off things lately, but it's not me, Teyla. I swear it's like...it's just not me doing it."

"I see." She spoke softly and the smile she directed at him reflected the sadness in her eyes. "I think that you carry a great burden, Major. One that you had not expected to carry. You feel things deeply but you try to hide that...passion. I think, perhaps, that has taken it's toll on you."

John closed his eyes, feeling suddenly bereft. "So you think I'm losing it," he whispered.

Teyla sighed. "I think you must allow yourself the time to heal."

There wasn't much John could say to that but he looked at her and was about to try and come up with some witty comment when Beckett returned with a tray of toast and juice. He shooed Teyla out and set the food on the tray table and wheeled it over the bed. "Eat up, major," Carson ordered. "We'll talk when you're through."

John said nothing. He picked up a slice of toast and took a bite, not tasting it. Automatically he chewed and swallowed. He managed half a slice before his gag reflex kicked in. A nurse happened to be checking on him and she grabbed a basin and got it under him just in time. John accepted the glass of water she gave him and rinsed his mouth.

Carson appeared and told him they would try again later and that he should rest for now. John didn't argue. He closed his eyes and drifted off into an unsettled slumber.

Another day passed and John suffered through and uncomfortable visit with Ford. The kid kept shifting from side to side and twisting his cap in his hands. John knew he wasn't dealing well with the idea of his C.O. slipping into madness, so to speak. Which was understandable. John wasn't dealing with it so well himself.

Elizabeth visited again too, as did Heightmeyer. Neither visit did much for John's peace of mind. He found himself becoming angry to the point where it felt he might explode, then he suffered a feeling of such great sorrow that he was hard put not to cry. He never cried. That particular moment happened with Heightmeyer present and ended with John becoming angry again so that the doc was nearly in tears when he left and Beckett was threatening to sedate him. Once he had calmed down, Beckett had informed John that he would be moving to his new quarters in the morning.

That was another irritation to John. The thought of being confined and watched like a rat in a cage. He was dreading it yet he couldn't figure any way out of it. At least here the guard was outside the door. Once he was moved he'd have permanent company. So John tried not to think about it. Instead he focused on keeping another light meal down, which he was having so-so luck with, then he managed to drift off to sleep.

The next time he opened his eyes it was because someone was hissing his name. Blinking awake, John realized it was McKay. He also realized he had missed the man, but he hadn't really been surprised when everyone made the excuse that McKay was busy in his lab. He had nearly choked Rodney to death. John wouldn't expect him to want to hang out with him. "What are you doing here?" That was the first thing John found himself saying.

"I'm breaking you out," Rodney replied, and he looked both grim and smug. "Can you walk on your own? Please tell me yes."

"I can walk," John replied, but he was more than a little bit confused. He watched as Rodney whipped back the blankets and reached for him. "What do you mean you're breaking me out?"

Rodney huffed an impatient sigh. "Do you want to get locked up in the little observation room?" he countered, even as he tried tugging Sheppard off the bed.

John slid off and stood on shaky legs. Lack of food and too much bedrest did that to a body. "Rodney...we can't just walk out of here." Not so surprisingly, John was willing to try and break out and he wasn't really questioning how McKay was going to do it. But he did plan on asking why. If they succeeded.

"Sure we can." Rodney was looking smug again as he wrapped an arm around Sheppard's waist. "Beckett is in his quarters sleeping. Finally. The nurse is on bathroom break and I drugged the guards. But we're working with a short window here so lets move, okay?"

"Okay." John didn't argue. He simply let Rodney guide him to the door. "Where are we going?" he asked, as they stepped into the transporter.

Rodney grinned. "Some place where we won't be found till we want to be," Rodney replied. Then he reached out and touched the panel.

John watched him, not recognizing the area and not caring. He was just happy to be free.


	6. Chapter 6

After stepping off the transporter, John let Rodney lead him down a long and winding corridor and it wasn't until they passed a window that he froze. "Rodney?"

Rodney had been muttering to himself and had gone on a few steps without realizing Sheppard hadn't followed him. But at the sound of his name he stopped and turned to face him. "Come on...we have to keep going." Suddenly he noticed the major's expression. "You okay? What's wrong? Do you need to sit down?"

John knew he looked stunned but he managed to shake his head at the questions, then he pointed towards the window. "Rodney...we're under water."

"Yes yes." Rodney waved an impatient hand towards the window. "I know that."

"How? Atlantis rose to the surface, last I remember." John was beginning to wonder if either he had been out of it alot longer than anyone had told him or, he was dreaming and it was an amazingly vivid dream. He was rather liking the latter scenario at this point. Then maybe he would simply wake up in his own bed and everything would be back to normal. John missed normal. He sighed and closed his eyes a minute only to suffer a wave of vertigo. He felt himself listing sharply to the right and he knew he would have fallen had a strong hand not caught him by the arm.

Rodney was worried. "Major...are you all right? Maybe you'd better sit down for a moment and rest. I'd really hate to have to carry you the rest of the way. You're skinny but solid and I have a bad back."

John did sit, letting his back hit the wall before sliding down to the floor. He listened to Rodney ramble for a moment while the buzz in his head faded and the nausea roiling in his stomach eased up. Only then did he lift his head and ask, "Why are we under water?"

"Let's just say that I found a place no one else will be able to find and leave it at that. Okay?" Rodney had crouched down beside Sheppard and he looked pained. "Look...are you all right? Seriously. Because you don't look so good."

"I've been better," John allowed. He felt tired and woozy and hot and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. Instead he pushed himself up the wall, letting Rodney help ease him to his feet, then he forced a smile. "We'd better keep going. I'm sure Beckett's noticed my escape by now and they'll be looking for me. Uh...us." John reached out and gripped Rodney by the arm. "You're ass is going to be grass for this, Rodney. Sorry about that." John was sorry although, at the same time, he was glad Rodney had come to help him.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Please, Major...have a little faith. I'm sure Elizabeth has sent out an APB on you but, trust me, they won't find us. Not until we're ready to be found."

John wanted to believe that but shook his head. "They'll use the LSD's."

"Really? You think?" Rodney made a face. "Genius here, remember? Believe me, I've thought of that and I've taken care of it. They won't be able to find us that way or any other way they might think of. Between me and Zelenka, they'll be chasing their tails."

"Zelenka is helping?" John was surprised to hear that.

Rodney shrugged. "He thinks you're worth saving. Go figure."

John found himself grinning at Rodney's attitude. He knew the other man considered him a friend and the feeling was mutual. As odd as it might seem to other people, John knew that he and McKay connected on a lot of levels. Yet at the same time their very differences made things interesting. "I owe you big time for this," John stated.

"That you do," Rodney agreed. "And I expect payment in full."

"And what do you expect payment to be?" John countered, as they continued walking. He felt a bit shaky so when Rodney gripped him by the elbow, John allowed it.

Rodney smirked. "I expect lots of chocolate, because I know you have a stash of Hershey bars in your room so don't even bother to deny it. And, by the way, Radek expects the same. And I also expect you to save my ass in the future."

John figured he could handle that, although he would regret parting with his chocolate. "Sounds fair," he allowed, then he stumbled and would have fallen if Rodney hadn't supported him.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," Rodney muttered, as he eyed Sheppard with concern. "You look like shit."

"Feel like shit," John allowed, then his train of thought wandered to the question that had been burning in his brain from the moment Rodney had shown up in the infirmary. "Why did you rescue me?" John blurted out, hearing how slurred his words were and that worried him a bit.

Apparently it worried Rodney as well. He slung Sheppard's arm over his shoulder, wrapped the other around his waist, then plodded forward. "Ask me that question again once we reach our destination," he countered.

John might have argued the point but it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other. His vision grayed in and out and he realized McKay was practically carrying him by the time they stepped through a doorway into what looked like a small suite. John blinked hard to bring the place into focus but it didn't help. He was vaguely aware of Rodney talking to him then he found himself lying down on his back and John was drifting off into shimmering darkness. Only he felt a spike of cold fear and he tried to sit up. Something was wrong. He felt jittery and panicked and suddenly hands were on him, pressing him down and John bucked against them until he recognized Rodney's voice trying to soothe him.

"Easy, Major, it's me. It's McKay. Just lie back and rest. Go to sleep and you'll be fine." Rodney almost stuttered as he spoke and he looked relieved when Sheppard finally relaxed against the pillows of the bed he was now lying on.

"Rodney..." John whispered, reaching out for the other man. He needed to make sure he was really there. Then a hand gripped his and John felt relief wash over him. His heart was still thudding against his chest but a warm serenity was drifting over him, easing him into slumber. He didn't resist. When the darkness embraced him, John let himself go.

Waking up sucked. John had barely opened his eyes when his stomach felt the need to protest and he found himself gagging on the bile that was pooling in his throat. Luckily Rodney had been paying attention and he managed to get John off the bed, into the bathroom and leaning over the toilet before he hurled. By the time he had emptied the meager contents of his stomach and managed to shudder through the dry heaves, he felt spent. He was only vaguely aware of Rodney wiping his face with a cool, damp, cloth then arms lifting him to his feet. "Wait..." John croaked, trying to dig in his heels. Which wasn't easy to do when Rodney was practically carrying him. "I need to brush my teeth.

Rodney winced but nodded. "Come on." He maneuvered Sheppard over to the sink and propped him against it. "I'll get it." He grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste he had appropriated from the major's room.

"Thanks." John brushed vigorously, trying to ignore the way his hand was shaking. He rinsed then took a drink of water to ease the ache of his abused esophagus. "Much better now," he stated, somewhat cautiously. That said he tried to step away from the sink on his own only to have his knees, promptly, buckle.

"Major!" Rodney practically squeaked as he dove for him. He got Sheppard steadied on his feet then hauled him back to the other room where he laid him out on the bed. Then he pressed a hand to Sheppard's forehead and frowned. "You have a fever. This could be bad."

John didn't deny it. Truthfully, he felt like shit. But at least the jittery feeling was gone. For the moment. "Got any Tylenol?" he asked, rather hopefully.

Rodney brightened. "As a matter of fact I do." He disappeared for a moment then returned with the bottle and a glass of water. "If you feel up to it later...emphasis on later...you can shower. I brought a change of clothes for you," he said, as he offered two pills and the water.

"Thanks." John accepted the Tylenol and the glass, popped the pills and washed them down, then asked, "Why are you doing this?" He had held off on asking as long as he could.

"Doing what?" Rodney countered, as he plucked the glass out of Sheppard's hand and set it aside. He then grabbed a blanket and spread it over the major, fussing with it as if wanting to drape it out smoothly.

John knew that Rodney was trying to avoid the question. He grabbed the scientist by the arm and shook him. Sort of. Or maybe he was the one shaking. Either way, Rodney stopped fussing. "You were willing to risk breaking me out and hiding me. Why? Everyone else thinks I'm having a break down and now they're convinced I'm suicidal. What about you, Rodney? What do you think?"

Rodney tugged his arm free then grabbed a chair and sat down next to the bed. He locked eyes with Sheppard. "I think that I don't have the most creative imagination around, but I do have a rather vivid one, and even I can't imagine any scenario or situation that would push you over the edge into trying to kill yourself." Rodney held Sheppard's gaze a moment longer then dropped it to his hands. "Look. You're stupidly heroic enough to sacrifice yourself for others. But suicide? No...no way. Which means something else is wrong with you and I seeing as how I'm a genius and all, I figured you'd need me to help fix you." That said, Rodney stood up and began pacing.

"Rodney?" John waited until the other man went still and looked at him. He felt touched by Rodney's confession in a way that was almost weepy, which was so not him. Yet he wasn't going to deny it either. Taking a shuddery breath, John then cleared his throat and whispered, "I definitely owe you one for this. Thanks."

"Thank me later," Rodney countered, brushing off the sentiment with an airy wave of one hand. "After we figure out what's going on. My best guess, which of course means it's right, is that whatever happened to change your emotional status had to have occurred when you were in the chamber with Kethan. Are you sure nothing happened?"

John's eyes felt heavy and he let them drift closed. He ached and he was tired and he wanted to sleep some more. But he did shake his head at Rodney. "No…nothing happened. I just...I slept."

Rodney went back to pacing. "Well...something had to have happened. Maybe that drink they gave you was drugged."

It bothered John that Rodney was probably right about that, but he hadn't felt anything adverse from drinking the stuff and Teyla had assured him it was harmless. They'd all had some at the feast. As tired as he was, John wracked his brain trying to figure out what might have happened. But nothing came to him and he started to feel edgy and jittery again and that sent a spike of fear through him. "Rodney...did you bring a gun?" John asked quietly.

"No…why would I?" Rodney frowned at Sheppard but kept pacing.

"To protect yourself," John countered, and Rodney apparently heard something in his voice because he turned and stalked back over to the bed. John looked at him, waiting for understanding to dawn.

But Rodney just looked puzzled. "Protect myself from who?" he prompted.

The panicky feeling was slithering back and John curled his fingers into the blanket, willing it to fade away. "From me," he gritted out between clenched teeth. "I tried to choke you to death...remember?"

"That wasn't you," Rodney shot back, and he looked almost angry.

"It was me." John's voice was hushed at the memory. He could feel himself shaking and he was working his way into a full blown panic when a sudden feeling of peace washed over him, like a wave on a beach, soaking into him and carrying away all the negative emotion. John sighed in relief and felt a warm lethargy seeping into him.

Rodney was watching him, a surprised look on his face. "Get some sleep," he said, gruffly, as he plopped back down into the chair.

John obeyed, letting himself drift into warm darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

He dreamed and yet it felt different than most dreams. He saw things, images that were familiar yet unknown to him and with the images came feelings of joy and sorrow and pain and fury. The emotions tangled up inside of John, weaving through him and over him, making him feel confused and sick and uncertain. So he tried to focus on the images. They were fuzzy at first but eventually they sharpened and he tried to reach out to them, to touch them as if they were real, one hand groping blindly until he connected...

John's body shuddered as a scream was ripped from his throat. He was in agony, it was searing his body, his mind and his soul and it was relentless, cutting into him, pouring through his veins, seeping into his mind.

"MAJOR! GODDAMMIT! WAKE UP!"

He felt himself stop breathing. Felt his awareness jerk back into his body and he choked on it. Felt himself being lifted upright, a hand rubbing over his back, a muttering in his ear...

"...please don't die on me, major. Dr. Weir would kill me...Major?"

"Rodney?" John was reaching out again, forcing his heavy arm to lift away from his body and then he felt a hand closing over his and John sucked in a shuddery breath. Now he was grounded. He peeled open his eyes and blinked up at Rodney's blurry face.

Relief was palpable as Rodney heaved a sigh and shifted Sheppard back against the pillows. "Don't ever do that again!" he snapped, as he started to get up to pace but seemed to realize he was still holding the major's hand. He made a face then sighed again. Then he cleared his throat and asked, "You okay?"

John wasn't sure how to answer that. He didn't feel so good. His entire body ached and he felt hot and there was a throbbing pain in his temples. But then he remembered the dream. "The chamber," John whispered, his throat feeling dry and gritty.

"Wait...let me get you some water." Rodney got up and grabbed a bottle, uncapping it as he returned to the bed.

"Thanks." John accepted it with a shaky hand, needing to use both to hold it steady enough to drink. He nearly fumbled it once he was done and was relieved when Rodney snagged it from him. Clearing his throat, which felt less scratchy, John tried again. "I remember the chamber. It was just...it led to something else."

Rodney sat down, looking intrigued. "Led to what? What do you mean?"

John frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus, trying to bring the memories back so he could describe it properly to Rodney. He knew that Rodney would be able to help figure out what had happened to him. "There was a door, hidden behind a tapestry. After I drank the juice...things went fuzzy then Kethen had me by the arm and he took me through the doorway into this…" John broke off and closed his eyes, trying to bring back the image that lingered in his head, taunting him. "It…it was a ship. I think it was a ship."

"A ship?" Rodney sounded excited. "What did it look like?"

"Atlantis."

Rodney blinked. "Atlantis? Oh...um...well...Atlantis is a ship."

John realized he wasn't explaining himself well. "No…I mean...it had consoles and writings like Atlantis. It was a ship, Rodney, I'm sure of it. And there was a room with chambers in it, like the one we found Old Weir in. Stasis chambers."

"With bodies?" Rodney was practically bouncing up and down now.

"No…with ashes." John felt the pain in his temples drift down to the base of his skull and he rubbed the offending area for a moment as he tried to explain what he had seen. "It looked scorched, like it had been burned but different." John huffed a frustrated sigh, knowing that he wasn't describing this properly. "It was huge. Nowhere's near as big as Atlantis...but big. Really big...and…the bridge was like the cockpit of a Puddle Jumper only ten times bigger."

Rodney was watching Sheppard closely, eyes narrowed, curiosity practically vibrating off him in waves. "Did you touch anything while you were there?"

John tried to remember. He tried to envision himself on the ship, retracing his steps. Then he remembered the small room that seemed to be the very center, or core, of the ship. "There was a chair."

"Chair?" Rodney echoed.

"Yes…like the one in Antarctica and the one on Atlantis," John replied. "I sat in it."

Rodney made a face. "You should know better than to do that."

John made a face back at him. "I figured it was dead, Rodney. Nothing lit up while we were in there."

"Then how did you see where you were going?"

"Torches. Kethen had torches." John remembered the flickering light and the heat of the flames puffing against his skin as they walked. Shadows had danced against the walls as they moved from room to room and John remembered thinking at the time that he could almost feel them. Not like a physical touch but something deeper and more ethereal. It was something he had felt inside him.

Rodney touched Sheppard on the arm, drawing his attention back. "What happened when you sat down?"

John shivered as the memory slammed into him. He remembered easing back into the chair and expecting nothing when suddenly his nerve endings felt as if they were on fire and he remembered screaming and then nothing. "It hurt.." he breathed, and he could almost feel that pain now. Then John realized it wasn't pain he was feeling, it was fear. Intense and vibrant, it curled around him, crushing him. He swallowed a whimper and tried to curl into himself.

"Major?" Rodney realized something was wrong. "What is it? Are you all right?"

"Make…it…stop…" John could barely speak. He felt his pulse racing, his heart thudding against his rib cage. He was shaking and felt sick and light-headed and the fear squeezed tighter and he forgot how to breathe.

Rodney panicked right along with him. "Shit…oh shit!" He grabbed his radio and tapped it on. "CARSON…I NEED YOU ASAP!" Rodney shouted, even though he didn't need to shout to be heard.

John heard Rodney as if from a distance. Heard him mumbling his name then something that sounded like directions. Then hands were touching him and John flinched away, kicking off the blanket and scrabbling off the bed. He searched the room, frantically, looking for a place to hide. He sought the closest corner and stuffed himself into it, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them, face buried in his knees as he tried to stop shaking. He heard the ragged sound of his own breathing and felt himself graying out, but John feared losing consciousness. He tried to cling to it and suddenly there was a feeling of peace but it was so weak and so far that he couldn't reach it. Couldn't draw it to him. The sound of his own breathing was too loud and John cupped his ears and tried to ignore it. But it got louder and louder and then there were other sounds and there was motion around him and he felt as if he were trapped on a tilt a whirl and he couldn't get off.

He heard other voices, felt other movement. Something touched him and John tried to bolt but he was trapped in the corner and there was something blocking him, touching him, then there was coldness seeping into his veins and the gray sound turned to black.

He heard Rodney say his name and John's eyes flew open. He started to sit up but a hand pressed into his chest, holding him still. He didn't feel panicked but he felt confused and then he recognized his surroundings. The infirmary. And it was Beckett's hand holding him back. John almost felt relieved. "Guess you found us," he said softly, as he slumped back into the pillows.

"Rodney called me," Carson explained. "You wigged out on him and given your fever and all he was afraid you might die. Which...well...you might have, to be honest. You were pretty sick for a bit."

That made John frown. "How long was I out?"

Carson glanced at his watch. "About 28 hours. You were in an out at times. And just so you know, Rodney told us about the chamber and what you saw."

"So...you think I'm crazy, right?" John wasn't going to pretend this wasn't happening, nor was he going to deny what he had told Rodney. He knew it had been real.

"No…I don't think you're crazy. But I do think that whatever happened to you happened on that...ship." Carson began taking Sheppard's vitals as he continued. "Rodney's with Dr. Weir trying to convince her to let you go back with your team, and me tagging along, so we can find out what did happen and find a way to help you."

Sheppard felt relief wash over him and he didn't try to hide it. "Think Rodney will get Weir to agree?"

Carson nodded. "I do. She wants to help you."

"I want to help me too," John replied, going for a teasing note but realizing he had failed, miserably. He lifted a hand to rub at his gritty eyes and took note of the IV taped to the back. "I hate these things."

"Aye…I know you do. But you need it."

John knew that. "When can I get out of here?"

Carson made a face as he considered. "Maybe tonight. And if Weir okays it, we'll go tomorrow."

"Really?" John was surprised he'd be allowed to return so soon. Beckett was like a mother hen at times.

"I think you'll get better quicker the sooner we know what ails you," Carson stated. "Get some rest for now. I'll check on you later."

John nodded then closed his eyes. For the first time since this whole thing had started, he felt like everything might be okay. That he would be okay.

Nearly two days passed before Rodney was able to convince Weir to let them return to the planet. To be fair, she held off, in part, due to John's condition. His fever spiked at one point and Beckett wasn't going to let him go anywhere until his temp was back to normal. Which it finally…basically…was. John felt a lot better than he expected too, better than he knew Beckett expected him too, as he walked up to the gate with the good doctor by his side. John smiled at Elizabeth when he reached her.

She smiled back. "You look eager to step through the gate, Major."

"I am," John allowed. "I want to know what the hell happened to me."

"Are we ready?" It was Rodney who asked as he made his way over to them. He was juggling a backpack and a scanner. He looked up to steady Sheppard. "You look better."

John grinned. "Feel better, thank you." He then turned to Teyla and Ford, both of who were watching him carefully. He knew they were concerned for his well being. John nodded at them, reassuringly, then he turned back to Elizabeth. "Looks like the gang's all here," he announced.

She nodded. "So it does. Be safe," she beseeched before waving a hand to the tech at the control console. "Dial the gate!"

"Wish me luck," John found himself whispering to her, as they event Horizon formed in front of him.

"Good luck," Elizabeth replied, with deep sincerity.

John expelled a nervous breath then he eyed his team for a moment. He knew they were ready to follow him to hell and back if necessary. He was pretty sure it wouldn't be this time. But he was anxious to be on his way. "Let's do this," John called out, then he stepped through the gate.


	8. Chapter 8

It was gone.

John stared, in disbelief, at the place where the ship had been. The entrance was buried beneath tons of rubble. Which was bad enough, seeing as how it meant he couldn't return to the ship. But to make matters worse, the Cerulins were gone as well. Completely gone. Gone as if they had never been. John realized his Gypsy analogy of them was truer than he had known. They were nomadic people and they had packed up and disappeared.

"This isn't possible," Rodney muttered, as he moved to stand beside Sheppard. He waved at the rubble. "The Cerulin's didn't have the means to create this rubble, and I know it wasn't a natural occurrence."

John said nothing. He didn't dare open his mouth to reply. He felt sick and if he tried to talk he knew he'd puke on Rodney's feet. So he turned away, stumbled really, and meant to head for the gate when a wave of vertigo hit him. His knees buckled and he nearly went down but strong hands caught him, easing him to sit. John knew it was Beckett and he allowed the man to shove his head down between his knees.

"Easy breaths, major," Carson advised as he rubbed the back of Sheppard's neck, soothingly.

After a few moments, the dizziness and nausea eased. John raised his head and looked back over at the rubble. "Guess I'm screwed," he whispered.

Carson narrowed his gaze at him. "You're not going to give up that easily, are you?"

"It's not like I have a choice!" John spat, as he made to rise to his feet, only to find Carson's hand on his shoulder, keeping him seated. John shrugged it off and glared at the doctor. "Whatever it is that's wrong with me...it happened to me in that ship!" John waved his hand at the rubble. "A ship that is now buried beneath tons of rubble that we're never going to be able to get through!"

"We'll figure something else out," Carson countered, evenly. "We're not giving up."

John had no intention of giving up either, but he realized he was being far more emotional than usual. He also realized he was feeling jittery again and he pushed himself to his feet and started pacing. "It's happening again," he whispered. "Shit...shit...shit!"

Carson was by his side in an instant. "We'll go back to Atlantis and I'll give you something to calm you." He turned away for a moment. "RODNEY! We need to go back. NOW!"

"I'm busy!" Rodney shouted back.

"We're going back now!" Carson bellowed, and he could be impressive when he wanted to be.

Rodney glared then his eyes shifted to Sheppard's agitated form and he jogged over to them. "Okay...we can go back now." He radioed the others then looked at the major. "You okay?"

John didn't answer. He couldn't answer. He was too busy fighting the anger that was burning inside him. Anger that was desperate to be released. He hands were clenched into fists at his side and he wanted to swing them, lashing out at anyone foolish enough to get too close. So he back away from Beckett and McKay, shaking his head.

Carson seemed to catch on. "Just try and relax, major," he beseeched him. "We're going back right now. Rodney...dial the gate."

Rodney didn't argue. Ford and Teyla returned, eyes full of questions, but they said nothing and just watched Sheppard.

John closed his eyes and started doing long division in his head, anything to distract himself from the anger. It seemed to be working. The anger eased a bit, just a little, but it was enough for sadness to stake it's claim on him. More than sadness. Desperate despair gripped him and John swallowed a whimper, feeling himself shaking, feeling the overwhelming urge to end this. He couldn't handle the loneliness, the emptiness...the pain. He found himself yanking at the bandages on his wrists, trying to scratch through them, to open up the wounds that were still healing.

He heard voices, familiar voices, as other emotions bombarded him. Calm peace was trying to wrap around him but the rage pushed it away, entangling with it, leaving the despair to enfold him and John finally clawed his finger nails into skin and he felt a sense of relief at the warm slickness of blood against his skin. Only in the next moment hands were on him, pressing him down to the ground. Then a pinprick in his shoulder, a spike of cold in his veins, then he was falling into darkness.

He dreamed again and this time he remembered what had happened in minute detail. But they weren't his memories. They were the memories of the souls who had died on the ship. The souls that had been contained within the chair, waiting for someone to let them out.

One of them was female. She was the one who tried to give him peace and serenity. The one who tried to keep the others from taking control of him. One was anger, another joy, another loneliness and despair. So many emotions tangled together.

Serenity managed to explain to him that they had been unable to ascend and so had shut themselves into the chambers. She could not explain through emotion how the ship had been damaged, how they had come into being as they were. But by the time John opened his eyes again, the dream lingered with him. He showered and got dressed and went to see Elizabeth. He asked her to call the others into a meeting, then John tried his best to explain what he had learned.

"They're incomplete," he said, after first explaining that the rage and peace and despair he had been feeling so intensely were not his own emotions, but those of the others.

"What do you mean by that?" Carson prompted.

John wondered if he could really explain it. He barely understood it himself. "They're entangled into one spirit, so to speak. Bits of each of them have melded together to become one Being, as it were. But they're still individuals." He looked at the others and realized they weren't following him. John scrubbed his face with one hand then tried again. "It's like they're one song but with different voices singing different parts to convey different emotions. But the song isn't finished, really. It never will be. It can't be, not until they're free."

McKay was scowling. "So they're inside you and they talk to you?"

"Yes and sort of." John knew this was going to be even harder to explain. "They're inside me but they don't talk with voices."

"They speak with emotion," Elizabeth interjected.

John turned to her and nodded, grateful that someone understood. "They want out, at least one of them does. She knows I can't control them and that they're causing me harm."

Rodney looked skeptical. "She?"

"It feels female," John confessed, feeling a bit embarrassed when Rodney smirked at him. But then he ignored McKay and turned back to Elizabeth. "I think I know how to get them out, but you're not going to like it."

"Okay...how?" Elizabeth prompted.

John bit his lip, his eyes dropping to his bandaged wrists. This was going to be the hard part. "I have to die."

There was a collective gasp from the occupants of the room then Carson was on his feet and snapping, "Not Bloody likely!"

"It's the only way," John insisted. He locked eyes with Elizabeth. "That's why that one...voice...pushed so hard for me to kill myself. It knew that it would be free if I died. But Serenity stopped it from going too far."

"Barely," Rodney muttered under his breath.

John looked at his friend. "It'll be like when we had to get the Wraith bug off. Just stop my heart, start it back up, boom. They'll be gone."

Carson was shaking his head. "A healthy body isn't meant to suffer that kind of shock repeatedly."

"I'm going to die if I don't get them out. And I just might take a few people with me before that happens." John's tone was sharp because he wanted them to understand. "I can't control them, or myself. We have to do this." He looked at Elizabeth beseechingly.

"Carson?" Elizabeth looked at the doctor for the answer.

Carson sighed. "I don't like it, but I'll do it if I have too."

Rodney felt the need to speak up. "How long do you have to be dead for?"

"I think they'll be gone pretty much immediately," John replied, crossing his fingers under cover of the table top.

"Let's do it then," Elizabeth replied.

John nodded at her, feeling both agitated and relieved as he rose from the chair. He wanted to be free as well.

The pads Carson placed on his chest itched and John winced, knowing it was gonna smart when they were peeled off. One of the few downfalls of having a hairy chest. Women liked it but sticky substances were a bad thing.

"Ready?" Carson loomed over Sheppard, the paddles in hand.

"Ready," John replied, his voice hoarse because his mouth had suddenly gone dry. There was no one else around by his request. He didn't want an audience for this. "Do it," John ordered, then he closed his eyes. A moment later he felt a jolt of pain throughout his body, then his world went black.

"John?"

He heard someone calling his name but he had no idea who it was or why they were calling him. He didn't want to wake up, he wanted to remain drifting in the warm darkness.

"Major Sheppard!"

A different voice this time. Sharper and crackling with irritation. John knew that voice. Regretfully he peeled one eye open and Rodney's fuzzy image came into view. "..whahappen..." John mumbled. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and his throat felt swollen.

"Have an ice chip, major," interject Carson, as he held a cup to Sheppard's lips.

John accepted the help and sucked in an ice chip. It felt like heaven. Once it was melted he tried again. "What happened?"

Rodney heaved a put upon sigh. "Why don't you tell us?" he demanded. "Are the voices gone or have do we need to zap you again?"

"Rodney?" This time it was Elizabeth's shocked tone.

"What?" Rodney wasn't the least bit chastised.

John felt himself smiling. For two reasons. One because this was familiar and welcome and, two because the voices were gone. But as that reality hit him, his smile faded. Suddenly he felt rather empty inside. Achingly empty. John was starting to wallow in that emptiness when something touched his arm and he flinched.

Elizabeth pulled back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?"

"Yeah...I'm good." It was a reflex answer. John wasn't sure if it was the truth this time or not.

"How are you feeling, physically?" Carson interjected, as he reached out to take Sheppard's pulse. "Any pain? Dizziness?"

John closed his eyes and considered the questions. "Bit of a headache and a sore chest," he replied. "Nothing I can't live with."

Carson looked pleased. "Good. I'm going to keep you here under observation for twenty-four hours and we'll go from there."

"Sure." John didn't have the energy to argue the point. He felt drained in a way that wasn't purely physical. "Um...how long was I out?"

"Six hours," Rodney piped up. "You came back from the dead pretty quick but then you kept fading in and out on us."

John frowned at McKay. "You hung around all that time?"

Rodney looked disgruntled. "Not all that time," he shot back, defensively. "I mostly radioed Beckett to see if you were awake and when I had to pass by I'd pop in."

"Pass by for what?" John prompted. "You're lab isn't anywhere near here and neither is your room or the messhall."

"How observant of you," Rodney shot back.

Elizabeth cut them both off. "Question time, Major. Are they gone?"

He knew what she meant and nodded. "Yeah...they're gone." John realized his tone was rather sharp but he really didn't want to talk about it.

"Where did they go?" Rodney queried.

"Don't know." John winced at the blatant lie, but he didn't want to share the truth with anyone. Not yet anyway. Because the truth was that Serenity and the others were gone permanently and in an odd way it felt like a mass suicide and John felt the emotional backlash of it. Maybe because of his own brush with taking his own life, even though his actions had been controlled.

Carson seemed to sense that it was time to clear the room. "The major needs to rest," he said loudly. "You can stop by and visit him in a few hours."

With that Elizabeth and Rodney turned away. John watched them go, feeling relieved.

Then Rodney stopped and turned back to ask, "Shall I bring my chess set later? We could play after dinner."

"I..." John was about to refuse the offer but realized what Rodney was doing. Offering a distraction. So he smiled and nodded. "I wouldn't mind a chance to kick your ass," he replied.

"In your dreams," Rodney shot back, smirking. Then he waved and ran to catch up with Elizabeth.

John sighed and settled back against the pillows, realizing he felt a bit less empty.

Carson fussed with the blankets for a moment. "Do you need something to help you sleep?" he asked.

"Nah...I'm good," John replied. And this time he meant it.


End file.
